Nothing Given, Nothing Gained
by The Muses of Mars
Summary: Cassandra interrogated Varric in an attempt to track Hawke down. In this story, albeit without Varric's cooperation, she succeeds.


Hawke sat in the sole chair in the otherwise empty room—a timeworn, wooden straight-back that had clearly not been crafted with comfort in mind. His wrists were bound behind him by a thick rope, yet his head was held high. "Just curious, Seeker," he began, the first to break the silence, "how _did_ you find me?"

Cassandra Pentaghast paced pensively around the room. She'd sought this man, Garrett Hawke, for three years. He had not been easy to track, but thanks to some useful information from a former acquaintance of his, she had found a way to bait and trap him. Now that she had him, however… Well, she wasn't quite sure what to make of him. His face was younger and softer than she'd imagined the Champion of Kirkwall's would be, and so far his demeanor had been most cordial. Was he even aware he was being held prisoner?

"You have a friend who enjoys telling stories," the Inquisitor finally answered. She couldn't quite meet the man's eyes. She found his calm strangely unnerving. She would have to find out whether or not he was to blame for the mess in Kirkwall, without making a clear accusation. Hawke had friends, not all of them mere merchants.

"Varric Tethras?" Hawke could hardly believe it. "Why would _he_ tell _you_ anything?" Varric was not his back-stabbing brother; the Varric Garrett knew wouldn't sell out a friend for any price.

"We may have taken certain measures to coerce him into doing so," Cassandra suggested, now standing to face Hawke with her hands clasped behind her back. She put on her best poker face. "Or perhaps we've found someone even closer to you, someone you know well and who well knows you…and of your whereabouts for the past three years since the suspicious decimation of the chantry in Kirkwall."

 _Fenris?!_ Garrett had to hold his breath altogether to keep from gasping. He didn't dare speak the name this time, praying he was wrong.

Hawke's expression shifted, and not too subtly. He looked worried. Ah, she had him!

Of course, Cassandra was bluffing. She was not so unscrupulous as to drug a man into telling her what she needed to know. Besides, Varric had seemed quite sincere when he declared he had no idea where Hawke was at present. But he _had_ mentioned that Hawke had had a lover, one that had only recently managed to make himself disappear from all but the most unreliable of rumors. Though neither Varric nor Cassandra actually had any idea where the elf was now, he had last been seen on the trail of the head of an illicit slave ring—which probably meant he and Hawke had separated, at least temporarily but certainly long enough that Hawke couldn't be completely sure where he was at this exact moment. All she needed to do was make the man believe she'd captured and imprisoned the elf and he'd talk. In actuality, Hawke had been recognized by a local woman who had been traveling and run into him by chance. All too aware of the price on the Champion's head, she was only so eager to offer him up for a bit of coin.

Though Garrett hadn't been very concerned when he'd been brought in for questioning, he was more than a little concerned now. He wasn't certain what these Inquisitors wanted of him, but if they had Fenris, and if they'd done something drastic enough to make his own lover give away his location, then the elf must be in grave condition.

"Red lyrium," said Hawke.

Cassandra stared at him blankly. "What?"

"The answer to all your questions is red lyrium," he repeated. "We found it in the Deep Roads. There was only the one piece. Varric's brother, Bartrand, brought it to the surface. It began driving him mad, so he sold it—after chipping off a sliver to keep for himself. That remnant has since been destroyed, and the bulk of it was sold to Meredith Stannard."

"The Knight-Commander of Kirkwall?" Cassandra recalled. "The woman you killed?"

"The red lyrium drove her mad, as well," Hawke explained. "Bartrand wound up in a sanitarium; Meredith was too far gone, and I'm afraid there was only one way to try and stop her from slaughtering all of the mages in Kirkwall, including the innocents. The material somehow turned her into something no longer human, and in the end she herself turned to lyrium."

"That is…much as we suspected," Cassandra said at last. Hawke had told her nothing Varric hadn't. Their accounts matched perfectly.

She drew her sword. Hawke did not flinch, but his jaw tightened. She was almost afraid to do it, but she walked behind his chair and cut the rope binding him.

"That's it?" Hawke wondered, rising to his feet and rubbing his chafed wrists. "You're not sending me to the executioner's block? Not even to jail?"

"What's the point?" Cassandra shrugged. "You've as many defenders as detractors—likely many more, I must admit. You're free to go."

Hawke paused before even considering leaving. "But you said—"

Cassandra sheathed her blade. "It was a ruse. No one has seen or touched your elf."

Garrett's mouth fell open. But then his expression relaxed and he closed it again. "Goodbye, Inquisitor," he said, and walked out of the room.


End file.
